


Justice

by Judith Proctor (Watervole)



Series: Justice [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4733306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watervole/pseuds/Judith%20Proctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake wants revenge on Avon for the death of his clone on Gauda Prime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
>    
>  **Original Author's Notes:**
> 
> This is the first story of a trilogy written over a long period of time. I was a much better writer by the time I got to part three.
> 
> Previously published in 'Gambit 12'.

Blake backed up against the wall as he heard the footsteps of the approaching guard. He held up a warning hand to the woman beside him and she nodded once in silent understanding. As the guard rounded the corner, they moved as one: Shona chopped at the hand holding the gun; Blake thumped hard into the man's midriff. The guard doubled up, letting out a loud whoof as his breath was knocked out of him. The gun fell from his grip, but remained dangling from his arm by its strap. As his hand struggled to regain the weapon, Shona's knife came up and cut his throat.

      Blake watched as the body fell to the ground. Death had less power to move him these days, but there was one death that would be avenged: the death of his closest friend, of his brother - that could not be allowed to pass unnoticed.

      So far, they had been fortunate. The prison had been less well defended than he had anticipated. Perhaps it had been assumed that the prisoner here was the last person that the rebels would want to rescue. Perhaps, now that everyone thought Blake was dead, they no longer expected trouble from freedom fighters. Or perhaps it was just one colossal trap.

      If his information was correct, the murderer should be imprisoned in the next corridor. Without inside help, Blake knew they could never have made it so far. Knowledge of the security systems, the patrol patterns, all had been given them by an informant who was carefully off duty tonight. He picked up the dead man's gun and slung it over his shoulder - it was always useful to have a weapon in reserve. Using his own gun, he covered Shona as she moved down to the corridor intersection. They would have to move rapidly now - they had minutes at most before the body was discovered.

      Shona waved to indicate that the corridor was clear. Blake hesitated. The confrontation ahead was going to be difficult, he wanted to get clear away to the flyer without the prisoner raising any alarm. It would be easier if he wasn't recognised. Making up his mind, he gestured to Shona to wait a moment and began pulling the uniform off the dead guard. Luckily the man had been heavy in build, and Federation uniforms were loose fitting at the best of times. The outfit fitted over Blake's own clothes once he had discarded his jacket. The helmet was comfortable enough over the black balaclava, although the visor made everything look slightly odd. Rationally he knew that it was to protect against the effects of laser flash, but it still made him feel as though he was moving in an underwater world. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice sounding slightly odd through the gas mask.

      If Shona was impatient, she didn't show it. They moved around the last corner, heading for the third cell on the left. If their information was correct, this should be it. Shona silently tapped the key code they had been given, and the cell door swung open to reveal the man Blake had sworn to kill - Kerr Avon.

      Avon was apparently asleep, curled up on the narrow bunk. Blake took an obscure pleasure in the drab prison coveralls that Avon was wearing. For a man so accustomed to dressing well, that must have been yet another indignity.

      Shona moved over and shook the sleeping man roughly by the shoulder. Avon moaned in his sleep, but didn't move. She shook him again.

      "Don't you want to get out of here?"

      This time, Avon's eyes opened, and he sat up slowly, obviously taking them both in. Shona was the slighter of the two, but had an evident strength to her. Her auburn hair was cut in a short crop and her camouflage clothing made no concessions to style.

      "Move." Shona gestured towards the door with her gun.

      Avon remained where he was seated. "I killed Blake," he said evenly. "Why should any member of the rebellion wish to help me?"

      Blake found that calm statement rather unnerving. Could Avon really be so blasé about his death?

      Shona was impatient. "Do you think you'll be any better off staying here?"

      Avon got carefully to his feet. "You may have a point," he said soberly. "I'll come."

      Blake took the lead now, moving ahead along the featureless grey corridors. Shona brought up the rear, checking for pursuit and keeping Avon covered. They moved through the kitchens, empty at this hour of the early morning and out through a service entrance. The gap in the security perimeter lay just ahead. Provided the circuit integrators he'd used around the gap had not yet been detected, they should be able to reach the flyer that would be waiting just beyond. For the umpteenth time, Blake found himself wishing for Vila's talents. Yet another death to lay at Avon's door. He checked his watch carefully. Everything was on schedule so far. The flyer should be arriving in about thirty seconds. As if on cue, he heard the faint sound of an engine on minimum power. Simultaneously, the lighting which illuminated a large section of the fencing, went out.

      "Now!" Blake sprinted forward, trusting the other two to follow his lead. Racing across the open ground, he threw himself under the low cut gap in the fence, nerves tingling for the anticipated electric shock. First Avon, then Shona followed. The flyer was on the ground just ahead. Blake scrambled in through the open door, pulling Avon in after him. Shona launched herself into the front seat, as the pilot lifted them into the air. Pursuit would be on its way soon, but by then, the jamming they had set up should be in effect and local communication blacked out. The first stage of the operation was over.

      Blake watched as Avon fumbled with the clasp of his seat belt. The man's breathing was laboured as through he'd run several kilometers instead of a mere hundred meters. His skin looked an odd colour too, although that was probably just the effect of viewing him through the visor. He said nothing. Blake found it easier to hate him in that silence - Avon made no attempt to justify himself, because there was no justification for what he had done.

      Memories were coming back to him now, not of Avon, but of Roj. After losing so many of his family to the Federation, the discovery of a brother, even a clone created at Servalan's instigation, had been a gift beyond price. In the time they had known each other, they had become firm friends. Their tastes, so similar in many areas, differed just enough to make each of them feel unique. They had laughed together, made plans together, and finally come up with the best scheme of all. If one Roj Blake was a nuisance to the Federation, why not two? If they both acted as the original, then their chances of gaining support were doubled. They had gone their separate ways, but kept in regular contact. The scheme on Gauda Prime had been Roj's idea. It had seemed appropriate somehow, after all, it had been a bounty hunter who had nearly cost him his eye. It had been a scheme that had almost worked. A scheme that would have worked if Avon hadn't betrayed him.

      Blake glanced at Avon again. Roj would have welcomed you as I would have, he thought. He would have welcomed you, treated you as a valued friend. In return, you killed him. Shot him down in cold blood. The anger was building within Blake now. He felt the urge to kill as he had not felt it for many years. Not the calm dispassionate knowledge that a death was unavoidable to achieve an end, but the cold hard fury that wanted to rend and tear for bitter revenge. He clenched his fists hard, restraining the urge to lash out here and now. Every man, even Kerr Avon, was entitled to a chance to speak in his own defence. They would try him, and then under the due process of law, they would execute him.

      His thoughts were disturbed as the flyer dipped into a clearing. The doors opened automatically as the flyer hovered. "Out!" yelled the pilot.

      Blake slammed open Avon's safety belt and pushed him bodily through the door. Then he jumped out himself, rolling clear as Shona and Hendrix, the pilot, bailed out beside him. The flyer wobbled a moment from the recoil of their jumps, then rose and headed rapidly in a northwards direction under the control of a preset program in the autopilot. Blake came to his feet, and checked his compass by the light of a torch. The caves that led into his base were about ten minutes walk from this point. Everything had been so much simpler in the days when they had had the teleport.

      Had Avon given the Federation the teleport too? He turned round to look at his one time friend. Avon lay sprawled in a patch of mud; presumably he'd landed awkwardly when he fell out of the flyer. Blake felt a moment's sympathy and ruthlessly repressed it. "On your feet," he demanded roughly.

      Avon's face turned to look at him, the expression slightly puzzled. Well, Blake thought, Avon was bound to realise who he was sooner or later. He took the helmet off deliberately, and tucked it under his arm. "You shot the wrong man," he said viciously.

      Avon looked at him, a collection of emotions too fleeting to identify, passing across his face. Finally he spoke. "I'll have to try harder next time, won't I?"

      Blake's fists clenched. He barely resisted the urge to kick Avon in the guts. Shona grabbed his arm. "Save it. We've got to make it to the caves, before the patrols get this far."

      Blake turned, and nodded in reluctant agreement. "Hendrix, bring _that_ with you." He gestured in Avon's direction, and walked off in the direction of the caves without looking back. Avon's antagonism was going to make everything a lot easier; but at the same time, Blake couldn't help wishing for some sign of remorse over his/Roj's death.

      Shona covered Hendrix, while he pulled Avon to his feet. She watched as Avon made a futile attempt to remove the worst of the mud. He was going to feel the cold if they didn't get to the caves quickly. The prison garment was thin, and now that it was wet, the wind chill factor would be worse.

      "Still as fanatic as ever, I see," Avon commented, as he watched Blake's retreating back.

      Shona felt the need to defend Blake. "He was very close to Roj."

      "And just who the hell," demanded Avon, "was Roj?"

      "His twin brother."

      "That's impossible," Avon said flatly. "All Blake's family were killed by the Federation."

      "So, who the hell," Shona said, deliberately mimicking Avon's words, "do you think you murdered on Gauda Prime?"

      Avon seemed to have no answer to that. He moved slowly along the path Blake had taken, too slowly for Shona's liking. "Get a move on," she ordered.

      Avon turned back to face her. "I can't go any faster," he said.

      He was trying to delay them, that was obvious. There would be air patrols searching over this area. The infra-red scanners would pick them up easily in the open, and in any case, it would be dawn in half an hour. She warned Avon. "If they spot us, I'll shoot you first."

      The pale moonlight picked out the gaunt angles of Avon's face. "I hope you'll remember that," he said.

      "Why? Are you so keen to die?"

      "It's better than going back."

      Shona studied Avon closely. She could see the signs of strain in him now. It showed in the way he held himself and in the lines of fatigue on his face. Whatever had been done to him in the prison, it had left its mark. The act could well be genuine.

      "Hendrix," she ordered. "Give him a hand. If he tries anything stupid, I'll shoot his ears off."

      Recent rain had left the path slippery. Avon skidded a couple of times, he seemed to be having trouble with his left knee. Hendrix supported the prisoner with an arm around his waist, an effort which gained him no thanks. It was difficult to see far ahead - Blake had been out of sight for several minutes before they finally reached the concealed entrance to the caves. Shona always hated this part. The stream that emerged from the cave mouth erased all footprints, but it also left her boots soaking wet. The stones were covered in algae. If you put a step in the wrong place, it was easy to slip and fall. Hendrix let go of Avon and got out his torch. The bright beam picked out coloured streaks on the walls where minerals had been washed out over the years. Further in, there would be stalactites.

      Shona watched Avon pick his way over the stones, realising for the first time that he was barefoot. It was no more than the man deserved. Shona had been with Blake for just over two years now. She'd heard his tales of the old days on the _Liberator_ , understood the degree to which he had relied on the cantankerous computer expert. "Some day," Blake used to say, "Avon will come and find me." But Avon had never come. Then came the news from Gauda Prime, and the vid footage from the security cameras there. Blake had changed on that day. Shona was never sure which had hurt Blake more, his brother's death, or Avon's betrayal. He was colder now, more suspicious, and at the same time more inclined to take unnecessary risks. This whole expedition was a risk they should not have taken. Blake's need for revenge was pushing him too far.

      Avon moved forward mechanically, catching his feet on the stones of the stream bed. He felt exhausted, both physically and mentally. He'd lost count of the time he had spent under interrogation, but it had to have been a couple of months at least. Pain had become a simple constant of life. His knee also was a constant source of trouble - a badly healed injury from Gauda Prime.

      Blake. Avon wished he could concentrate his thoughts and work out how Blake could possibly be here. The dead man on Gauda Prime had been Blake. He had spoken with Blake's voice, looked at Avon with Blake's eyes, and bled with Blake's blood. The blood was still there if he closed his eyes to see. The pain and confusion of that death were still with him, had never left him in all his time in prison. Now Blake, or a man who claimed to be Blake, was here and very much alive. Mocking the emptiness inside him. How could he grieve for a man who wasn't even dead?

      At least this Blake was easy to deal with. A Blake who hated him was simpler to handle than the Blake of the _Liberator_ days. This man demanded nothing that Avon couldn't give. Hate was simple to handle - faith was the deadlier weapon.

      A vertical crack of light ahead intruded into his reflections. Bright enough for electric lighting, so there had to be more in these caves than met the eye. The crack widened into an opening. Avon staggered towards it, feeling less steady than ever. A stone door opened into a brightly lit corridor painted in antiseptic white. He stepped forward into the whiteness, and promptly tripped over the sill. A hand caught his arm, supporting him: Blake's hand. For a moment, Avon felt grateful. Then he knew. No gesture of comfort, no unspoken offer of support. Simply a hand to stop him falling, to save someone the effort of picking him up off the floor. He shrugged himself free and waited to be told what to do next.

      Blake led the way up a long, gently sloping corridor that must have led right into the heart of a mountain. The walls were featureless, and apart from the steady gradient, there was no indication as to where they were going. Avon soon found himself lagging. Blake didn't look behind him, his whole stance radiated anger. Hendrix gave Avon a hand once more, but there was no more sympathy from him than from Blake. Avon was more alone than he had been in his cell.

      After a small eternity, they emerged into a hall. The walls were lined with controls which reminded Avon vaguely of a hydroelectric power station he'd once investigated on Xenon. Blake was nowhere to be seen, but a small group of people were waiting there, and more emerged from another entrance as Avon watched.

      "Is that him?" one of them asked Hendrix. "He doesn't look much like the pictures."

      Hendrix shoved him lightly forward. "That's the traitor."

      Defiance was hard to summon up - Avon had been beaten for it too often in the past couple of months. He tilted his head up, and gave them his best 'don't you dare come near me' look. It didn't work. They crowded around him, poking, pushing. Too few people for so long, and now too many all at once. He tried to push them back, and without warning they were on him. He could hear their voices hurling insults at him, feel feet and fists abusing him, but none of it seemed to reach him. His head was slowly spinning. The last thing Avon heard before the world collapsed underneath him was Blake's voice.

      "Leave him!" Blake shouted angrily. "What is the point of fighting the Federation if we end up just like them?"

      Crazy, stupid, idealistic Roj Blake, thought Avon. Justice for everyone, even for murderers. Then the blackness took him.

      Blake shoved people aside angrily as he moved to view Avon's sprawled out body. "If we resort to this kind of action, then we're no better than them; we're no better than _him_."

      "What did you expect?" Shona demanded.

      Blake rounded on her. "I expect people to act like civilised human beings. To act how they would like to be treated themselves." He bent down and scooped up Avon's limp form. "Come and help me get him into some dry clothes. I don't want him dying of pneumonia before his trial."

      Avon was lighter than he'd expected. That was oddly worrying. But then, you couldn't spend two years with someone, living in constant danger, without becoming close to them. Life only existed to kick you in the teeth, Blake reflected morosely. With Roj's death, he hadn't lost just one friend, but two. Killing Avon might be satisfying, but he was unlikely to feel any better for it. He led the way down a side corridor to his own room. That would be the easiest place to get clothes. Pausing outside the door, he nodded to Shona, and she opened it for him.

      His sleeping bag was on the floor by the far wall. Blake deposited Avon there and stretched out his arms to ease his shoulder muscles. The room was small, but sufficient. Accommodation here wasn't too bad. They had discovered the underground power station almost by accident last year, and moved into it when a previous base had become untenable. A reservoir in the hills fed water into a man-made tunnel right through the mountain. After repairs, they were even able to generate a small amount of electricity. Blake's own room had been an office once, the desk and filing cabinets still came in handy. Here in the darkness and the even temperatures of the perpetual underground, little changed. Where vermin had left things untouched, it was even possible to read the old documents of many centuries ago.

      Shona wrinkled her nose. "He smells."

      "So would you," Blake retorted in irritation. "I've been in Federation prisons, I know what they're like." He opened a couple of drawers in the desk, trying to recall where he had put his spare shirt. Clean clothes were a luxury - all laundry here had to be done by hand.

      "Is this what you're looking for?" Shona tossed him a pair of olive green trousers that for some unaccountable reason had been on top of a filing cabinet.

      Blake caught them in one hand, and yanked open another drawer. His shirt nestled on top of a coil of rope, a pile of maps and a small collection of fossils. Tucked into the back of the drawer was a padded waistcoat. He grabbed both items of clothing and threw them in Avon's general direction along with the trousers. "Put these on."

      As he'd half expected, Avon's eyes promptly opened.

      "Any chance of a wash first?" Avon inquired, with an icy look at Shona.

      "You were listening!" she accused. Then she flushed as both men gave her the kind of look reserved for delta grade idiots. She gave Blake the coldest look she could manage under the circumstances and offered to get some water. Blake merely nodded. Taking that as acceptance, Shona left for the lavatory and filled a bucket with hot water. Blake would have to use his own flannel, because she was damned if she was going to lend out hers.

      When she got back, nothing seemed to have changed, apart from the fact that Avon was now sitting instead of lying down. The two men were glaring at one another; she gained the distinct impression that they hadn't spoken a word since she'd left. She plonked the bucked down on the floor without comment, and made to leave.

      Blake raised his hand to stop her. "I'm appointing you counsel for the defence. You've got two hours to put a case together."

      "What!"

      "Somebody's got to do it," Blake said. "I trust you to do the best job that you can."

      "And you're the prosecution?" Avon snarled caustically at Blake.

      "However did you guess?" Blake replied sarcastically. "And if they find you guilty, I'll take great pleasure in executing you myself."

      Avon glared at him. "Do you think you can shoot an unarmed man?"

      Blake paused in the doorway. "I had an excellent teacher." He slammed the door hard shut behind him.

      The bitterness of that exchange left Shona feeling tense and edgy. "Well?" she asked.

      Avon didn't answer for moment. He sat looking at the floor, the argument apparently having drained what little energy he had left. He reached out slowly for Blake's shirt, gripping it tightly in his hand as though it were a touchstone to reality. "Give me ten minutes. I presume you can wait outside the door?" His lips twitched slightly, a smile devoid of all humour. "I don't think you need worry about me escaping through a hole in the woodwork."

      He was certainly right there. None of the offices had more than one way in. Shona took up a position outside the door and waited. After her watch said fifteen minutes had passed, Shona opened the door and looked in. Avon had changed his clothes. His hair was wet, so he'd obviously had a wash; but the man himself was fast asleep, stretched out on top of Blake's sleeping bag.

      Shona felt understandably irritated. She didn't want the job of defence, she hadn't asked for it; but seeing as she was stuck with it, the bastard could at least help. She kicked Avon roughly in the side. He groaned, but didn't get up.

      "Leave me alone," he complained.

      Shona wasn't impressed. This was the man Blake had rated so highly? She said, "You don't seem to realise that your life is on the line. Blake ordered me to help you, so I'm helping. You could at least co-operate."

      Avon sat up slowly, resting his head in his hands for a moment before looking up at her. "As the entire exercise is futile, I see little point in wasting my time with it."

      Shona took a chair from in front of the desk and sat on it, resting her gun on her knee. "Blake always told me that you were smart, and that you never gave up."

      "If you're trying to manipulate me, it's a waste of time. Blake was far better at it than you'll ever be."

      "So you killed him because he tried to manipulate you?"

      "No!" The sudden emotion in Avon's voice caught Shona by surprise.

      "So," she retorted, "you do have some feelings about the issue."

      "Oh, I have feelings," Avon said in a low voice. He changed the subject abruptly. "If you insist in providing a defence for my 'crime', don't you think it would be a good idea to tell me what the evidence is?"

      "The vid tape from the security camera. The Federation broadcast it over half the galaxy." Shona gestured at the monitor on the desk. "Do you want to watch it?"

      Avon said nothing. Choosing to take that as assent, she switched on the monitor and called up the relevant file. Avon's eyes flicked unwillingly to the screen as the short sequence played itself soundlessly through. Watched as he fired three times at an unarmed man, then caught the dying man in his arms. Watched as the scene cut to another camera scanning over the dead bodies, pausing over the faces of each of his friends.

      "Did it ever occur to you," he asked roughly, "that the whole thing could be a fake, a computer simulation?"

      "It's too good," Shona protested. "It's obviously you, and I'd know Roj anywhere." Actually, that wasn't quite true. The man sitting on the sleeping bag at her feet bore little resemblance to the man she had seen on the screen, yet it was him in ways that were hard to define.

      Avon was silent for a moment. Then he made a sound that was almost a laugh. "They can make simulations that are almost perfect. I should know."

      "Are you claiming that this is a simulation?" Shona demanded.

      "No. It matches what I remember."

      "Why do you think your memory is genuine?" she asked out of curiosity. "They tampered with Blake's memory. Why not yours?"

      There was hope in Avon's eyes for a moment, a wild hope that flickered and then died. "There wouldn't be any point. What would they gain from it? They were never going to release me."

      "As you wish." Shona was getting fed up of the entire situation. "Just for the record, would you mind telling me why you did kill him?"

      "Certainly - if just for the record, you'll tell me who he really was."

      "All right," Shona said. "Roj was a clone. He was made by the clonemasters before the Andromedan War. That's all I know about his origins." She looked defensively at Avon. "Don't think any the less for him for that. He was a good man."

      "A clone?" Avon queried. "As if one Blake wasn't bad enough."

      "That's what I said. A clone. So," Shona demanded, "tell me why you shot him."

      Avon was completely in control of himself now, an urbane facade that told her nothing. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked her blandly. "He was a bounty hunter and I was a man with a one million credit bounty on my head. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go back to sleep."

      

      

The trial was in the power hall. The impressive banks of controls along the walls reflected the level in the reservoir, and showed the amount of power generated as the water flowed down its man-made tunnel. A facility existed to pump water from a lower level back up to the reservoir, but the rebels had never had occasion to use it. Blake's small band filled the room, thirty men and women there for the sake of curiosity and vengeance.

      Blake sat silent behind a table, watching as Avon was brought in. His own feelings were chaotic and uncertain, and that angered him. He'd trusted Avon back on the _Liberator_ , first out of necessity, and later out of a genuine belief in the man. Now that faith lay in small shattered pieces. He could think of no reason why Avon would try to kill him unless Avon had sold out the entire rebellion. Avon had always claimed cynicism and survival as his personal beliefs. What right, Blake asked himself, did he have to feel betrayed, if all Avon had done was to live up to the philosophy he had always claimed for himself?

      Shona took up a position behind a table opposite to Blake's. Without being told, Avon took the empty chair placed between them. There being a general shortage of chairs, everyone else sat down on the floor, using whatever they had available as cushions. Blake waited until they were all settled, before raising a hand for silence. Then he began:

      "Kerr Avon, the charges before this court are firstly, that you conspired with the Federation to betray your companions; and secondly, that you murdered my brother Roj Blake believing him to be myself."

      The look of shock on Avon's face seemed genuine as far as Blake could tell. "How do you plead?" Blake asked.

      Avon unfroze to answer. "I killed a man I thought to be Roj Blake. I betrayed no one."

      "The evidence before this court is that you did. You had lost your base. You had lost all hope of making an alliance against the Federation. Your only chance to survive was to make a deal with the Federation. My life and the lives of your followers in exchange for your own."

      "Objection!" Shona rose to her feet. "Avon spent two months being tortured in a Federation prison. That suggests he did not make any deal with them."

      "No one ever said," Blake pointed out, "that the Federation kept their side of the bargain."

      Avon looked coldly at Blake. "Is that what you really believe?"

      "You betrayed me!" Blake shouted. "What am I supposed to believe?"

      Avon was on his feet, fury in his face, restrained only by the guns that suddenly appeared pointing in his direction. " _I_ betrayed _you_?" he queried in shocked disbelief.

      Blake pounded his fist on the table. "You tried to kill me! If I'd been there instead of Roj, I'd be dead!"

      Avon took a step towards him, eyeing the Blake's gun with contempt. "And when you've satisfied yourself I'm guilty, and you've shot me in return - what then?" he demanded passionately. "Will you sell my carcase to the Federation for the bounty money?"

      Blake nearly exploded in fury; but somehow, he managed to contain it. There was something here that he was missing. Avon was _too_ angry. This was more than the anger of a man in fear for his life. He knew Avon too well to mistake that. There was outrage and indignation in that anger, as well as pain. An anger akin to his own - the pain of being betrayed by someone he'd trusted. Blake's head hurt, he could feel a pulse beating deep inside his skull. Why had Avon felt betrayed? Blake guessed at the answer with a cold sense of dread - the bounty.

      This had to be sorted out between them. His purpose in setting up the court was fast becoming irrelevant, because if Avon hadn't intended to sell him out, then it might still be possible to salvage things between them. It might be. Or they might both have said too much to ever be able to go back again. Besides, Blake had to know what had happened in the tracking gallery on Gauda Prime. One thing at least was certain, this was something that was important to Avon, and that meant in turn that he was never going to talk about it in front of thirty strangers.

      Blake banged his fist on the table again. "This court is adjourned for one hour." He tossed his gun to Shona and gestured to Avon. "I want to talk to you in my office. Now."

      "Is that wise?" Shona asked pointedly, looking at the weapon he'd give her.

      "Probably not," Blake snapped at her. "But it's what I'm doing." He stalked around the table to join Avon.

      Avon didn't move from his chair. "Whatever game you're playing, Blake, it's not going to make any difference."

      "I said I wanted to talk to you," Blake reiterated. "Now we can do it here with everyone listening, or we can talk in private in my office. Which is it going to be?"

      Avon stood up. "If I'm going to be forced to listen to your conversation, can I at least have something to eat while I'm at it?"

      Blake was caught again by how thin Avon appeared: his borrowed clothes hung on him like a tent draped over a too small frame. Blake called a dark-haired woman over. "Marlene," he said, "could you rustle up some coffee and a bite to eat for the two of us."

      "Sure," Marlene replied. She elbowed Blake gently in the ribs. "Why don't you have a private meal with me sometime?"

      He hugged her lightly with one arm. "Some day maybe."

      "Sweet on you is she?" Avon asked with his usual sarcasm.

      Blake shrugged. "Half the women here are. Occupational hazard."

      "But of course," Avon drawled, "you never take advantage."

      Blake looked at him coldly. "I'm a human being like anyone else."

      They walked down the corridor in stony silence until Blake opened the door to his office. Apart from Avon's prison coverall folded up neatly in a corner, it looked the same as it always had. Not for the first time, Blake wished he had some way of personalising the place. It wouldn't be worth the effort though. This was a good hideout, warm and comfortable, a change from many he'd used in the last year or so; but no place was safe forever. They'd have to move on soon. It was best to have no ties to anything or anyone. That thought inevitably brought him back to Avon. Blake closed the door and offered Avon the only chair. "I'll get another one from next door."

      Avon promptly sat down on the sleeping bag. "Don't bother. I'm used to being down here."

      "Have it your own way." Blake took the rejected chair. Now he was here, he wasn't sure where to start. With people perhaps. People were always what counted most in the end. "The Federation claimed they were all dead," he said hesitantly. "Is it true?"

      "Cally, Vila, and the ones you never knew: Dayna Soolin and Tarrant. They're all dead." Avon's voce was flat and unemotional.

      "Tell me what happened."

      Avon said nothing.

      "Damn you, Avon! I've a right to know."

      "Have you?"

      "They were my friends!"

      Avon studied Blake's face before replying. "All right, if you really want to know. Servalan led us into a trap on Terminal. Cally was killed in an explosion there, and the _Liberator_ was destroyed by an organic cloud."

      "A trap?" Blake demanded. "And you walked right into it? What happened to your much vaunted caution?"

      Avon pushed himself angrily to his feet. "Everyone makes a mistake sometime."

      Blake stood to face him. "And what was your mistake that got Cally killed?" He realised from the look on Avon's face that he'd pushed too far.

      "I went looking for _you_ ," Avon answered furiously. He threw a punch at Blake's jaw. Blake ducked back and the attack went wild. He grabbed Avon's wrists and held them tight. If Avon had been fit, it might have been more of an equal contest. As it was, it was a trivial task to force Avon back to where he'd been sitting.

      A knock on the door startled them both. Blake released his prisoner with a start and went to meet Marlene as she entered. She plonked a tray down on his desk. "Here - this is the best I could find." She winked at Blake. "I managed to scrounge a decent bit of cheese for you. Don't let him eat it all."

      Blake slapped her on the rump as she left, which made Marlene giggle.

      "Whatever happened to Jenna?" Avon asked sourly.

      Blake stiffened. "Jenna's dead."

      "Your mistake?"

      "I sent her to Gauda Prime," Blake replied. "If that was a mistake, then you can blame it on me. Roj needed some experienced back up and she was the best I had. Jenna died running the blockade." Blake paused a moment, remembering. Life had been empty since Jenna died. There were women if he wanted them, but it wasn't the same. Would Avon understand that? Blake continued, "Part of me died with her."

      Avon studied the floor. "Cally would have understood that. She was never the same after the Auronar died, and I," his voice quietened, becoming almost inaudible. "I was never quite the same after she died."

      Blake picked up the tray and came to sit beside Avon, leaning his back against the wall and resting the tray on his knees. "There's no one left except us to remember them, now," Blake said.

      Avon took a mug of coffee and stared into its black depths. "Would you believe that I even miss Vila?" he asked.

      Blake felt oddly light headed, as though he was slightly drunk. "Vila liked you," he offered.

      Avon drank some of his coffee. "I doubt it," he said. "Even Vila had some sense."

      Blake shrugged. "I liked you."

      "Well you had a damn funny way of showing it," Avon retorted. "Trying to get me killed all the time."

      Blake snapped out of his relaxed state with a start. They were back to Gauda Prime again. "It was you that tried to kill me!" He held up a hand to stall Avon's inevitable reaction. "Shut up; have a sandwich; and then tell me what really happened."

      Surprisingly, Avon did stay quiet. He chewed his way steadily through a cheese sandwich with various bits of greenery and yeast concentrate poking out of it and then finished his coffee before speaking once more. "Do you really want to know?" he asked.

      Blake tasted the dregs of his coffee and steeled himself for the worst. "Yes."

      "We had to abandon Xenon base. I gather you know about that?"

      Blake nodded. "The Federation claimed they'd destroyed it."

      Avon shrugged. "They didn't. I did. Too many people knew where it was and were in a position to sell us out. I imagine that Zukan for one, told Servalan where it was."

      "Servalan!"

      "She was going around under the name of Commissioner Sleer. I told them that in the prison. Presumably they'll have quietly removed her by now. But that's another story." Avon reached out for the second sandwich. "Do you mind?"

      Blake shook his head. "You need it more than I do."

      Avon took a bite before carrying on. "The Warlords were never going to unite without a decent leader. Zukan was dead." He smiled wryly. "I don't tend to inspire confidence in people. So, I thought of you. You'd have made a convenient figurehead."

      "With you as the power behind the throne?"

      "Naturally." Blake didn't need to be able to see Avon's face to know the expression that he'd see there. That old half smile with the mocking undertones. He wasn't sure whether to feel offended or not. But then to take offence was usually to play right into Avon's hands.

      "And was that why you went to Terminal?" Blake asked. "Looking for a figurehead?"

      "No." An admission reluctantly dragged out of Avon. "I thought you'd managed to get yourself stuck in a stupid situation again. You always did have a talent for it."

      Blake rested his hand on Avon's shoulder for a moment. "Thanks - even if I wasn't there." Without giving Avon a chance to think of a suitably rude reply, he changed the subject back again. "So, you went looking for a figurehead on Gauda Prime?

      Avon nodded. "Orac traced you there. He said you were working as a bounty hunter." A leaf fell out of Avon's sandwich. He eyed it with mild distaste, then picked it up and put it in again. " _Scorpio_ was shot to pieces on the approach run, and crash-landed. Tarrant got separated from the rest of us. Orac located a flyer from the base and we followed it back in another flyer. We'd just got into the tracking gallery when Tarrant reappeared." Avon's eyes took on a hard stare. "He'd obviously been through a rough time. Tarrant said you'd sold us, all of us." The sandwich was crushed, forgotten in Avon's fist. "He said you'd sold me!"

      "So, you shot me." Blake felt oddly calm about it.

      "So, I shot you," Avon agreed.

      "Except that it wasn't me."

      Avon half shifted around to look at him. "It _was_ you though. Don't you understand. He was you. He had that same stupid, blind, idiotic faith." Avon flung the remains of the sandwich against the far wall. His voice rose. "He wouldn't stop coming! I shot him, and he was still trying to rationalise it, still trying to explain things."

      Blake felt fury on Roj's behalf. "And of course, you didn't bloody well listen! Roj was using the bounty hunter routine as a cover. It gave him a way of testing people for their loyalty to the cause."

      "Maybe he should just have tried trusting people."

      "Coming from you, Avon, that's totally ludicrous. Besides, how easy is it to develop a trusting nature when practically your first experience in life is to realise that Servalan has let Travis use your fellow clone as target practice? Oh yes, Avon, there were three of us once; but not for very long." Roj had always resented that, the fact that the life of a clone could be held so cheaply. As though he wasn't really human. But Roj had been human, regardless of his origins. "Servalan had Roj created as bait to get Imipak for her. You do remember Imipak don't you?"

      Avon nodded silently.

      "Roj held Servalan at gunpoint so that we could escape. He and his wife, Rashel, marked Servalan with Imipak so that she would leave them alone. But she must have worked out a scheme that needed him, because sometime after the clonemasters were destroyed, she sent a bounty hunter after him to destroy the weapon and bring him back."

      Avon interrupted, "Terminal - but there was no one there, just a computer generated image."

      "That's because I got there before the bounty hunter got back to Servalan. I heard a rumour of my own capture and happened to be in the right place at the right time to do something about it. Roj was in a pretty bad state. His wife was dead, and he'd nearly lost an eye himself. Do you wonder that he found it difficult to trust people?"

      Avon's knee was complaining. He shifted position slightly to try and ease it. The pain brought everything back too clearly. He could see the clone's dying face before him once more. Saw a face with no anger in it, just anguish and something else. It was that something else that haunted his dreams. "Then tell me why," Avon demanded. "Tell me why, if he trusted no one, did he trust me?"

      "Because he saw you through my eyes," Blake retorted. "Roj had no past of his own. He was born thirty-four years old. I gave him as much of my past as I could; it was all I had to give him. Perhaps, I painted you wrong. Perhaps, I pictured you as I wanted to remember you. But whatever he saw in you, he got it from me. Roj would never have betrayed you."

      That had always been the worst part of the dreams. "I know," Avon whispered hoarsely. He owed Blake that knowledge of his brother's final moments. "I knew it at the end. I knew it before the Federation agent and all the troops appeared. I knew, but it was too late because he was already dead."

      Blake sat in silence for a minute. Remorse and regret were hard things to associate with Avon, but he did not doubt their reality. Nothing was ever going to bring Roj back; Blake knew that he had to accept that fact. He also had to accept that Avon had killed Roj from misunderstanding, not malice. It was going be difficult to let go of the hatred that had built up within him, difficult to forgive, even harder to trust again; yet he had to do it, not just for Avon's sake, but for his own as well. The alternative was just one more corpse in a life that had seen too many already. It would take time to rebuild their old relationship or whatever new understanding grew from it; but if Avon was willing to meet him half way, then the effort would be worth making.

      Blake got abruptly to his feet and dusted his hands against his trousers. "We'd better get back to the hall."

      Avon tried to stand up, but his knee gave way under his weight. Blake bent over and held out his hand. Avon looked up, and knew the gesture for what it was - not just a hand to get him to his feet, but a unspoken offer of support, a new chance of friendship.

      He took it.

 


End file.
